


He won't go

by moromi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moromi/pseuds/moromi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps the most difficult afternoon for Satsuki Momoi</p>
            </blockquote>





	He won't go

It looked as though he needed someone beside him. 

You saw him taking his bag after sitting on that bench for hours. Hours earlier, you and his best friend were by that bench sharing a joke. You left them for a while to get a drink, but once you got back, he was left alone on that bench, arm slung over his eyes while his fist clenched on his shirt. 

Was he crying? You asked politely if he was all right but he wasn't saying a word nor was he responding to anything you said or did. He simply laid at that bench, quiet, his fingers still gripping on his shirt. And you knew you had to stay there. And you did. For four hours. 

He apologized to you for making you wait. He said he was sleeping but you can tell by the redness of his eyes what exactly was happening. You asked once more if he was all right and he said he was and that he probably wouldn't come back to practice tomorrow. 

"Did something happen between you and Dai-chan?" 

"Did he bully you?" 

"Did he hurt you?" 

"Did he tell you to quit?" 

And he didn't say a word. He simply walked ahead of you until you got to your station. He said goodbye and it felt like it was the last one. 

As soon as you got home, you rang the doorbell of your childhood friend, his best friend. You screamed his name until his mother let you storm inside their house and kick his door open. There he was, by his bed, spinning his ball with his forefinger, listening to some music, unperturbed by your presence. You only caught his attention when you ripped his earphones from his ears and scolded him for bullying his best friend into tears. And as he turned your way, you saw the distress in his face, that he too had been in tears a few hours ago and the mere mention of his best friend's name has enraged him enough to scold you how you knew so little. 

And he shouted at you that he didn't need him. In rage he convinced you that he did not need his best friend's support, that he didn't need anyone, and that he only needed himself in the finals. In that rage, you could see his tears, as if his entire body contested to everything he said. 

It looked like he needed him. 

For the first time that night, you saw your childhood friend cry. And it was difficult to put the pieces together, not with his pride, and not with the other's silence. You only knew that something beautiful was broken that afternoon. 

The next morning, your childhood friend didn't smile when you greeted him. You commuted to school in silence, as if neither one of you knew each other. 

At lunch, you saw the other boy, looking a little better, handing a resignation form to your table. 

How do you stop someone from leaving? 

Is it enough to beg? Do you have to cry? Or do you simply ask, "Don't go." 

He smiled faintly when he heard your murmur. And by that pained smile you knew that yours was not the voice he wanted to hear those words from.


End file.
